Page 16 of The Two Last Moments

I know Danny wouldn’t hurt me. That’s why I felt brave enough to undress in front of him. But what if he’d seen the bruises too, and had realized what they meant? He’d pity me more than he does already.

“Trust me, you’re plenty strong.”

I shrug, not quite believing him.

There’s a classic Dodge Charger up ahead. Candy apple red, white racing stripes. “Oh my God. Please tell me that’s your car.”

He nods. “Yep. It was my grandfather’s. He restored her, and I helped a little.” He’s trying to be modest, but I see the pride in his face.

“I think I just fell in love.” I have to take a moment to drag my fingers along the frame, admiring its sleek lines and perfect condition. “She’s gorgeous.”

“You like cars?”

“Who doesn’t love a 1968 Charger? It’s legendary. What’s she got under the hood?”

“Seven liter Hemi V8.”

“Four-speed manual?”

“You guessed it.”

I whistle and then look up at him, feeling a smile dawn on my face. “That’s something else about me. I like cars.” And it’s agoodsomething. Not old bruises or a fear of being trapped. A giddy laugh bubbles up from my chest.

Danny is smiling too. “At least we’ve confirmed you have good taste.” He opens the passenger door for me and helps me inside. When I’m nestled into the leather seat, I’m even happier as I examine the dashboard. “Can I drive?”

He’s just lowered himself into the driver’s seat. “Do you thinkI’mthe one who hit my head? Hell no, you may not.”

“Just testing you.” I’m pretty sure I know how to drive though. It’s probably one of those muscle memory things. Like riding a bike.

I wonder what other muscle memories I’ve held on to.

I’m less happy when Danny drives way too slow to his neighborhood. “The suspension is tight,” he says when I complain. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re hurting this car’s feelings. She’s not meant to go slow.”

“And yet she will. Because I’m making her.”

I grumble at the unfairness of it. But I’m impressed with his patience.

And the way he wants to take care of me is nice, too. Must be a firefighter EMT thing. Even though he claims not to be heroic.

It doesn’t take long for Danny to turn off the main roads and into a neighborhood. “Does anything look familiar?” he asks.

“No. Not yet. Do you think it’s possible I live around here? Or I have friends and family who do?”

“Maybe,” Danny says. “I’ve been in touch with West Oaks PD. I have some friends on the force, including a guy named Cliff, who’s my roommate. He’s the one I mentioned before. He and the other officers have been interviewing neighbors. Showing around your photo.”

It’s been less than two days since my accident. It makes sense that the police are looking into it, but I’m just one girl. Aside from my lost memories, I’m not even that badly injured. How many resources would they devote to me?

“Maybe I have a car parked around here somewhere. And the police just haven’t found it yet.”

“That’s possible.”

He pulls up to a curb and puts the car in park. I see skid marks on the asphalt from tires braking or accelerating hard.

I open the door and plant my feet on the ground. Before I can even stand up, Danny’s out and around the side, offering me his arm. I take it and stand up. Together, we walk out into the middle of the street.

“This is where it happened,” Danny says.

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